the sun and
sea were just
beings waiting
to die out
ALL CREDIT GOES TO THE CREATOR OF HARRY POTTER, EVEN IF I DO NOT SUPPORT JK ROWLING IN ANY WAY. I DO, HOWEVER OWN MY ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER EIGHT HOW MANY GHOSTS DO YOU CARRY?
LIFE HAD NOT always been kind for Wren Stonem. It enjoyed taking things from her, special things she held close to her heart like her father and well. . .herself. Death came for the girl every night in her dreams, and when she woke up life came for her even more. When Wren was eight years old her father had sent her out chasing butterflies, an attempt to let him rest for a minute, and the girl had ran all the way to a small field. She could still remember the smell, such a specific smell. One that was bitter, a bad taste that overwhelmed any of the good that once resided in that small, little field. Wren remembered trying to ignore the atmosphere that this field provided, but it seemed to be suffocating her. The girl had always been one to feel too much and not understand any of it. She was a feeder, not a eater, and that tended to starve her.
But, anyways, that's what the Malfoy manner felt like. It felt as if nothing good had ever walked into this large, grand home, and nothing ever would despite all the kind looking family portraits and all of the used books lining the library shelves. It displayed kind gestures and love, but held only pain. Familiar, Wren thought. And as the girl walked towards the seemingly large dining area turned ballroom, she figured this is where she belonged. In a catacomb of pain, a final effort at keeping all her flames locked away so nobody but the people who deserved it got caught in the fire.
I am meant to be here.
"Care for a dance, M'lady?" Regulus smirked, startling Wren as she went to slightly slap his suit covered shoulder. He looked nice, clad in a sharp, jet black suit with shiny dress shoes and his ringlets of curls finally tamed. Though, Wren figured she liked it way more when his hair was untamed and wild, finally showing the care free spirit that was Regulus Black.
"Hmm, and why would I want to dance with you, Mr. Black?" Wren asked, a smile pulling at her lips as she watched Regulus bow in front of her.
"I'm not Mr. Black, I'm afraid, just Regulus," the boy spoke, reaching his hand out to grasp Wren's own. The brunette smiled at the touch, a warmth growing inside her that finally didn't burn. His touch was so much different. A comforting touch, Wren realized, one that wouldn't burn, or freeze her, it would just. . .comfort. She hoped Regulus felt that way too.
"Alright, Ghost Boy, let's see if you can dance," Wren laughed, before she bent her head down and tried to hide the laughter. It was rare for her to laugh, but she found whenever she did it she was finally living. When the girl looked back up, though, she found only kind ebony, golden speckled eyes looking at her. No judgement, no odd looks, just kindness. She returned the gesture. As if the pair had always known a waltz to crescendo, as if they were made to be a perfect entanglement of limbs, Wren and Regulus danced. And soon the setting sun became a moonlight through the window panes of the grand home, and soon the Dark Lord would arrive, punctual or not.
